


Feathers

by Luthorchickv2



Series: Nesting [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Flashback, Happy Jon, Jon in King's Landing is not a happy or healthy Jon, M/M, Pregnant Daenerys Targaryen, description of a panic attack, purposeful tense shifts, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 10:08:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19171120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthorchickv2/pseuds/Luthorchickv2
Summary: Jon is back in the North where he belongs and reflects on how he was able to come home.





	Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> The lovely comments I got inspired me to keep going. Have more happy!Jon. 
> 
> Comments and kodos are treasured.

Jon wakes the first morning back north snug in Tormund’s arms, Ghost spread out by their feet. He should feel embarrassed for disappearing his first night but he feels too happy to worry. Besides, he has a feeling absolutely no one was surprised. The plates of food and skins of water outside Tormund’s door when they had surfaced at nightfall supported that feeling. He and Tormund had taken the offerings and gone back to bed, barely able to keep their hands off each other. 

He can’t believe that this man is his, after years of yearning. It feels too easy, almost. But it hadn’t had, not really. He remembers the hurt he felt when Tormund had kept is distance when he arrived yesterday and the confusion when Tormund started talking about Jon’s wife. But there was also the joy, when Tormund listed all the reasons why Dany should have married Jon, and in the moment Jon knew that Tormund cared for him the way he cared for Tormund. He hadn’t been sure and would have been happy to have remained his friend, but this, this was so much better. 

He stretches, the aches in his body a source of pleasure. He flushes, thinking about how Tormund had taken his time to make sure not a inch of Jon was untouched, unkissed, unloved. Who knew the dip at the bottom of his back could make him arch and cry out when kissed?

His bladder suddenly reminds him of its existence and he squirms to try to get loose so he could relieve himself. 

“Hm. Sleep. Warm.” Tormund grumbles into Jon’s ear and tights his arms holding Jon to his chest. 

“Unless you want me to relieve myself on the bed, you are going to have to let me get up for a moment.” 

Tormund opened an eye, snorts and rolls over, releasing Jon. 

Jon stumbles out of bed, cursing the cold and throws on the first things he can find, which end up being Tormund’s tunic, pants and cloak. He shoves on his own boots and lightly whistles. Ghost opens his eyes and hauls himself to his feet to follow Jon out. It has been an effort to get him to stay out of the sleeping area and eventually they had given up. Ghost had stayed curled in the corner facing the wall and had only joined them when both had been asleep. The direwolf noses at Jon’s knee as he passes him into the living area. 

Tormund had built a small but comfortable cabin not far outside Castle Black, around which his clan have settled, forming a small village by the tree line. The cabin is not laid out the way most freefolk dwellings are. There’s no second level for sleeping, catching the heat as it raises and keeping the sleeper off of the cold floor. Instead the cabin has a sturdy wooden platform covered in furs a little ways above the floor with a bed roll and a hearth close by. He has a feeling that the reason for the difference is sitting next to him, waiting to be let out. Jon feels such a rush of love for this man who would build his living space to accommodate Ghost, even when thinking Jon had married someone else and would never be back.

Jon opens the door, letting Ghost out and follows slowly. 

It’s just dawn, the sun not yet up, just pretty soft light reflecting off of the Wall. The air has a bit of a bite to it but isn’t anywhere near as brutal as it had been when he left. Winter is slowly loosening its grip.

Rhaegal is curled in a large heap next to the cabin and gently flicks her tail at Jon as he passes. He hopes she hadn’t been a nuisance while he had been otherwise occupied. 

On his way back, he stops for a moment, and breathes in the crisp cool air. 

He hadn’t been lying to Tormund when he said the the heat and the sun had drained him. Even the air felt heavy and sticky and gross. There were some nights when the heat was so oppressive he couldn’t breathe. He would lay at night in his soft bed, covered in silk sheets, feather pillows and the softest linen blankets, gasping for breath and missing the North so much it was an ache in his bones. 

Maybe it was a combination of the physical heaviness in the air and the weight on duty and expectation on his heart. He had hated King’s Landing. Everything about it from the hordes of people crowding the streets to the stiff formality and double speak of the Court. The only silver lining was Daenerys herself, and Rhaegal. The flights they would take together out over the ocean, kept him sane, at least for a little while, but even that had lost it’s pleasure in the midst of the Court. He had been miserable. 

He remembers the night Dany had freed him. It had been one of the bad nights a few months after she and Jorah wed, and people had started making noises about his marriage. He was happy for her truly, she loved Jorah deeply and seeing them made him want, yearn for what he could not have. Jon had been outside on Aegon’s Hill, curled against Rhaegal like he use to curl against Ghost, trying to breath, wanting to be North, and missing Tormund so much it hurt. He had finally normalized his breathing when a voice startled him. “I knew you weren’t happy here but I didn’t realize how unhappy you were.” Dany said, stepping around Rhaegal’s snout. 

Jon wiped the snot from his face and stood. “I’m fine, Your Grace.” 

She snorted. “It’s not polite to lie to your monarch but I’ll forgive it because it’s such a blatant falsehood. You are not fine and you haven’t been for a while.” 

He couldn’t bring himself to answer her. He didn’t even realize he was shaking until she wrapped her arms around him. 

“It will be okay, Jon.” She soothed, cupping a hand around his neck. 

They stood there, silently, as Jon pulled himself together. 

“I miss the the North.” He said, finally, simply. It hurt to admit even that. He was a Prince of Dragons, born in the heat of Dorne, he shouldn’t yearn for the cold and snow. And yet...

“And you miss him.” She said, wryly. 

He blushed. “Aye, I miss him.” He admitted. There was no point in lying. He missed Tormund with everything in him. Tormund's strength, and humor and love of his people. He’s not sure when he fell in love with the redhead, maybe sometime after the Battle of the Bastards, could have been before. He just knows now that when he goes to touch himself its Tormund he thinks of; Tormund pushing him down and then into him, of riding the other man, being surrounded by him. He wants to kneel before him and offer him everything Jon is. And it’s not just sexual, whenever something good happens all Jon wants to do is tell Tormund, to hear the other man laugh, or tease. He wants to spar with him. He wants to grow old with him, watch white chase away the red, the laugh lines deepen. He wants to know Tormund’s daughters. He just wants and wants, but he knows he can’t ever have. 

“You are my heir, Jon, and with that comes responsibilities.” 

Jon pulled away from her and snarled. “I know. I am here, aren’t I, wearing southern silk, standing by your side, making small talk and breathing the hot southern air.”

He stalked away from her and stared out over the sea. 

“I will be Aegon Targaryen, I’ll marry you whoever you order me to. I’ll go to the court events and make small talk with craven lords who side with whatever way the wind blows. I’ll sit on the council and advise, Your Grace. I will do my duty.” He said, and flinched when an arm tucked into his.

“I know you will, Jon, and I love you for it.” Dany exhaled. 

“Over the course of my life I’ve learnt that things that are known to be true and unchangeable are seldom actually unchangeable. They said dragons would were gone and yet I have two. They said the enslaved would never be free and they are. They said the wall would never fall, and it did. They said the Night King was a myth and we faced him. They said” she paused. “I would never again carry a child after my son died.” She placed a hand over her belly. 

“I’m pregnant.” She said. 

Jon spun to look at her. 

“So soon?” He teased. He didn’t bother asking her if she was sure. 

She blushed. “We may have celebrated early.” She admitted hand resting on her torso. “I didn’t think I could. I put that behind me and I was happy. You are everything I could have asked for in an heir.” 

Jon smiled. “I’m happy for you.” And he was, truly. 

She studied his face. “Jon, you overly honorable jackass.”

He flinched away. “What have I done?”

She smiled at him sadly. “I tell you I am going to have a child, an heir other then you and your first reaction is happiness for me. Anyone else who would have asked me when they could leave or asked for reassurance of their role in my court.”

He shrugged. “I don’t see why this changes anything. Presumably, you still need me to marry and forge alliances. You having a child doesn’t free me from my responsibilities.”

Dany reached back out to him. “No, it doesn’t. But it does change those responsibilities.”

Jon let her tuck her arm into his as they watched the sky lighten. 

“Jon, we, Tyrion, Jorah, and I, decided on a role for you. We want you to be ambassador to the freefolk.” 

What? He looked down at her, ready for the punchline.

“Even with Sansa as Lady of Winterfell, there is no one, no one south of the wall at least, who understands them and has as good relationship with them as you. I want you to go up north. Connect with the free folk and live your life.”

He couldn’t respond. She is handing him everything he wants, and he, Jon, never gets what he wants.

“Jon. Go home. Visit, but go home.” She said, smiling at him. 

And he did. There was more to be done, but within a month he was on Rhaegal winging north. 

Now he was here, standing in the the cold dawn light, more at home than anywhere else.

He wants to laugh with how full of joy he is but instead he ducks back into the cabin and stands leaning on the door looking at his bedmate. It occurs to him that he’s never really seen Tormund like this before and he takes the time to study his lover. 

The other man has rolled over onto his back, blankets pooled just over his waist. Tormund has always been big but now Jon can see that it isn’t just the furs that make him look huge. His arms and shoulders are strong and Jon shivers to remember how easily Tormund had carried him yesterday. His chest is broad and covered by a light dusting of red hairs, though less than Jon would have expected given the man’s beard and hair. His stomach is not as defined as Jon expects but the red trail of hair that starts there is tantalizing. 

“Enjoying the view?” Tormund’s rough voice breaks the silence. 

Jon drags his eyes up to see Tormund’s eyes are open and fixed on him. He’s brought up an arm to lie over his head and he is leaning on it as he faces Jon. 

“I’ve seen worse.” Jon shrugs but he knows he’s smiling too widely for the other man to take him seriously. 

Tormund just smiles softly. “I like seeing you in my clothes, pretty crow.” 

Jon wants to blush, and cover himself, even after last night, but he feels desired, and loose, and in love. He pushes through the embarrassment and brings his hands up to the clasp of the cloak. “But, I bet you like me better out of them?” He says, coyly. 

Tormund laughs, and Jon’s not surprised that he laughs with his whole body. 

“The pretty crow has become bold.” Tormund drawls. 

“You keep calling me pretty and you’ll see just how bold I can be.” Jon lets the cloak fall to the floor and runs his hands over the pant’s buckle. 

Tormund’s eyes are dark with desire and Jon can see a bulge under the blanket. 

“Hm, pretty crow.” He whispers, staring at Jon. 

Jon plays with the buckle. There is something he wants to hear and maybe with Tormund looking at him like he is water and Tormund hasn’t drunk in days, he can say it. 

He steps up to the platform just out of arm’s reach. “But not just a pretty crow.” He says. 

He can see Tormund thinking and can see the moment he realizes what response Jon is looking for. 

He smiles a slow toothy grin. “No, not just a pretty crow. My pretty crow.” 

Jon drops the pants and climbs onto Tormund, straddling him. 

“Your pretty crow.” Jon repeats and leans down to kiss Tormund. Tormund grabs him and rolls them until he is leaning over Jon, covering him. 

“Mine.” He whispers. 

“Yours.” Jon agrees and arches up to press his lips to Tormund’s.


End file.
